


Comfort

by mr_dr_felicia



Category: Tokyo Ghoul
Genre: Angst, Fluffy, Gen, M/M, Mutsurie Week
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-10
Updated: 2016-07-10
Packaged: 2018-07-22 17:31:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7447930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mr_dr_felicia/pseuds/mr_dr_felicia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>a fic for mutsurie week i forgot to post!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Comfort

It’s so hard at first, living with the fact that Mutsuki couldn’t remember him.

Mutsuki couldn’t remember anything; actually, just that he was missing four limbs and needed to grow them back. Even when he was presented with an outdates photo of the ghoul Torso and tears streamed from his face, he couldn’t recognize the emaciated face and wondered out loud why he was crying in the first place. Urie left the suffocating white room after that.

Urie stays at the CCG hospital more and more recently. The new members of the Quinx notice of course, and all three of them try to ask about it, but Yonebayashi quiets them with a tiny push and command to be her ‘Player 2’ at some videogame she’s playing. Urie doesn’t miss the tiny look the tiny woman sends him. He nods back, buttoning up his coat and exiting the Chateau.

Soon enough Urie gets accustomed to the knowledge that the smile Mutsuki shows him whenever he visits is just a cordial one, thankful that there’s another face in the sea of masked CCG doctors that come to poke and prod at his healing limbs. They take pictures of his nails, regenerated now and black. Urie runs into the swarm of doctors during one of his visits, spying a folder with an unfamiliar name stamped onto the cover.             The woman nurse holding it is comparing photographs of Mutsuki’s hands and feet with the hands and feet of someone with similar deformations, both sets of pictures showing black nails.

He shrugs it off and pushes Mutsuki’s door open. Like always, he finds the man sitting up in bed, holding a book.

“Oh, Urie-san,” Mutsuki greets him with a smile and Urie almost doesn’t realize that Mutsuki’s never called him Urie-kun since being captured. It’s like they were getting to know each other all over again. “It’s nice seeing you again.”

“Yeah,” Urie says, and takes a seat beside the hospital bed. “What’s that book you’re reading?”

 

With most of his squad dead, Mutsuki is quickly reassigned to the Quinx squad. His memory is still full of holes, but Dr. Shiba assures Urie and all the other Quinx members that staying with familiar faces and in a familiar place should help jog his memory. So a few months after being rescued from Rue Island, Mutsuki is sent to the Chateau with a few sets of clothes and a tiny baggie of supplements and pills.

And of course Urie is ordered to escort him there.

“Ready?”

“I think so.” Mutsuki doesn’t look around the hospital room he’s stayed in for months but instead looks down at his hands, white finally showing through the black fingernails. “Yeah. Let’s go.”

“Alright.” Urie helps Mutsuki with his luggage—two suitcases that look suspiciously like they would be used to carry a quinque. They board the elevator, empty even though the hospital is thrumming with the rush-hour frenzy of investigators coming in and out with varying degrees of injuries. Urie keeps his back to Mutsuki the whole ride down, his eye trained on the flashing floor levels. They’re on the twelfth when a hand reaches out to tug on Urie’s sleeve.

Mutsuki’s gaze is trained on the shiny floor, his fingers’ grip on Urie’s sleeve tight. Urie doesn’t shake them off, but the man lets go anyway. “Urie-san.”

“Hm?” Urie feels Mutsuki look up at him, but he’s still staring at the flashing numbers.

“Are you…uncomfortable with this? I could apply for a transfer—”

“I’m fine.” The sixth floor flashes by and the fifth follows. “Staying in the Chateau would be best for you, anyway.”

They’re on the second floor and the doors are just moments from opening again. Urie ducks to pick up on of Mutsuki’s suitcases and he hears the man behind him take a tiny breath. “Thanks for saving me, by the way.”

The quinx, led on by Saiko, make a huge dinner that takes them all four hours to finish eating. Urie doesn’t eat a bite of it though, and leaves for the training room after getting Mutsuki’s things settled in his old room. He passes the time sweating and enjoying the steady silence the training room offers, the tight press of his muscles clenching enough for Urie to forget for a while. He leaves the training room when it’s past midnight and the Chateau is silent save for the hum of Yonebayashi’s computer, always turned on for some reason.

Urie passes the lounge and starts when he sees a lump among the pillows.

“Mutsuki. (Wake up.)” Urie is reaching out to shake the boy’s shoulder, but hesitates when he sees his face. He’s seen Mutsuki asleep countless times during his hospital visits and even before then, but it’s the first time he’s ever looked this peaceful. Urie pulls back and takes the cling-wrapped plate of food Mutsuki’s saved for him from the coffee table and heads up stairs.

 

Hours later, Mutsuki is awake. He wonders why he’s on the couch for a second, then remembers when he sees the plate he’d left out for Urie—empty now, the cling wrap bunched into a shiny ball over the ceramic. He shrugs out of the blanket he’d dragged out of his own room and slips the used plate into the dishwasher.

It is a few minutes past three in the morning when Mutsuki trudges up the stairs to his room. The hallway is mostly quiet and dark, save for the light in Yonebayashi’s room. The girl inside is awake too, already playing videogames. Mutsuki’s room is the very last one on their corridor, and he’s still yawning when he hears it.

Barely sniffle, and the sharp intake of breath.

Mutsuki freezes when he hears it, his fingers clenching around the blanket. The sound comes from the door he’s directly in front of; and it belongs to Urie.

He leaves the blanket in a neat pile by the door and knocks. “Urie-san? Is everything—”

Something falling with a muffled thump onto the floor makes Mutsuki’s chest clench and his words stop. There’s no sound for a few minutes, then Mutsuki can hear the man behind the door breathing again, fast and unsteady. A hand Mutsuki assumes must be Urie’s lands heavy on the other side of the door. The door creaks at the weight.

“Can I come in?”

There’s no reply, but the door lock clicks open.     

Urie’s standing at the foot of his bed and suddenly Mutsuki feels all too small. What’s he even doing here? He barely knows the purple-haired boy in front of him, and everything he _does_ know seems to point to him being cold and arrogant to others. But Mutsuki couldn’t help it; he sees something in Urie. The problem is, he doesn’t know what that something is. “Urie-san.”

“He used to call me Urie-kun.”

Mutsuki’s half-way to asking who he meant when he realizes. “Oh.”

“Mm.” Urie isn’t looking at anything it seems, even if there are about a thousand things in his room Mutsuki longs to look at. The paintings are one, canvases all stacked over each other in a shadowy corner of the room. There’s one easel, and a canvas is placed there, too dark for Mutsuki to see save for the shades of green splattered onto the surface. He has to shake his head to stop from looking. “Why are you here, Mutsuki?”   

“Er—um. I heard you—through the d-door, yeah? And—well—” Mutsuki takes a breath and wills himself to meet Urie’s eyes. “Your eyes are red.”

Urie looks down so fast his purple hair is a blur for a moment. “That isn’t any of your business. Get out of here.”

“But—”

Urie takes a huge step forward and Mutsuki finds himself still rooted onto the ground, strangely not afraid because somehow he _knows_ Urie wouldn’t hurt him. He stays on his spot until Urie’s just inches from him, both of them not exactly knowing why everything had to turn out like this. Mutsuki knows Urie is staring at the top of his head but can’t bear to look up, something in the man’s eyes just so sad he couldn’t look at them for too long.

So he focuses on Urie’s hands instead. He isn’t wearing his gloves for once, and the hands beneath are pale and smeared with mint-green paint. They clench and relax at five-second intervals.

“Not leaving?”

“You know I won’t.”

“You barely know me.” The hands clench for longer this time.

Mutsuki clenches his own in response. “Well I think—”

There’s a rush of air and Mutsuki thinks Urie might actually punch him; but instead he’s in wrapped in the other’s arms, cool with sweat from his nightmare. He’s so stunned that he barely hears Urie’s muffled question through his hair.

“Why?”

It would’ve seemed like a question totally out of the blue, but somehow Mutsuki _gets it_ , feels the apprehension in Urie’s tight grip and the frustration in his voice. There’s longing mixed in there too, and Mutsuki thinks there might be some in him too.

“I’m not sure.”

He feels Urie start to pull away, so Mutsuki locks his arms across the man’s back and keeps him there. “I dunno what makes me wanna stay by you all the time, and I’m not sure where this is all going, but there _is_ something, and I can’t help but listen to it.”

“That doesn’t make a lot of sense.”

“I—I know.” Mutsuki finds himself burrowing his face into Urie’s woolly shirt, inhaling the familiar yet at the same time completely alien scent. He finds strength in it and looks up. “But who cares? I—I might not remember you all that well... but I _am_ still Mutsuki Tooru and I think that—I think that the old me would’ve helped you, if he had the chance.”

The silence that follows is loud and deafening. Mutsuki shuts his eyes and feels the hope slowly drain out of him, finally unwinding his arms after a few minutes of the silence not being broken. But Urie doesn’t let go when he tries to pull away.

Mutsuki tries to look up at the other man.s face, but Urie’s chin is balanced on top of his head and keeps him from moving, the dark material of Urie’s shirt the only thing he can see.

“There is no old Mutsuki.” It’s just the slightest bit, but Urie tightens his grip, still making sure it’s not too tight for Mutsuki to become uncomfortable. “There’s just you, and you’ve helped me so many times before, even when I never gave you the chance to. You just…don’t remember yet.”

There’s a small tinge of fondness in Urie’s voice that makes the tips of Mutsuki’s fingers buzz. He feels warmth spread all over his cheeks too and he realizes it’s the _something_ that’s been pulling him to Urie all this time. He likes it.

“Maybe this will help me remember.”

 


End file.
